Poetry that eats me

I was told since beginning to breathe. Outside the loathing empty voice.
Like a romantic bud blossoming under the clear sky.
I knew i had some issue. I was often mad.
People called me anxious.
And life vomited every disgusted feeling, a black hole on my face.
I survived that.
i survived my anxiety.
The hollow arch of turpentine water did amaze me.
Somedays, the summers ring into my ears like a blade.
i had seizures too in the past. The ones that would burn my entire body
I became a quiet monologue, left to flip through times.

And often, I would swim among the pages of words,
words of my rummaging eyes, seeking nothing but love.
nothing but life,
oh, that life.
Iterative steps to defy this melancholy.I rest this white clapping body onto the walls of poetry now.it holds me like a lover.

How funny…I just came back to your page and noticed Basilike’s comment which I did not see when I wrote mine. I guess it’s obvious how great those lines are 🙂
I remember the things you have told me before, you have truly gone through a lot and I admire you for it! and that you make such beautiful art out of it all 🌸

I enjoy reading your authentic canvass work- and twist and turns of lost unheard words meandering through the galaxy on fragments of whispered breaths in search of an attentive heart that listens to every…syllable said.

Please never stop writing, I hate to return to feeling alone in the same galaxy. 🙂

The words are where we find solace, and your poetry takes one there only… I’ve always been fond of your vocabulary (even though it’s been very long, I hope you remember I always used to be in awe of your words) 🙂 Hope you’re doing good.

Haha, I am afraid of writing something now. I don’t know why (nervous smiles) It’s just like, coming back to a home after so long that you shy from entering your own room. Haha, that’s a very stupid analogy.

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A dreamer and a believer for the upliftment of women rights. A published poet, author, writer. Believes in dancing and cooking amazing food for hungry souls at times.
Loves to write and write till the moon is satisfied.
My writings can be found at Visual Verse, Indian Periodical, Sick Lit mag, Duane's Poetree, Thistle magazine, among various others.
Curator of Olive Skins.